


Waiting for Winter

by Weconqueratdawn



Series: Inosculation [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Cabins, Domestic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury Recovery, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sick Hannibal, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7495257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weconqueratdawn/pseuds/Weconqueratdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal wakes up in Will's cabin, still in recovery after the fall and with little memory of what came after. They both wait - Will for Hannibal to be well enough to leave, and Hannibal for Will to make choices.</p><p>
  <em>The footsteps Hannibal heard from behind him were confident, unhurried. Sounds of clothing being removed and tools put neatly away accompanied them. Whistling too, low and musical.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Will walked into the cabin, behind the sofa bed upon which Hannibal lay, and began filling a tin kettle at the sink. The scents of outdoors followed him - soft clay earth, brackish water, burning leaves.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hannibal remained still, waiting.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The whistling stopped suddenly. He felt Will approach, cautious now, to lean over the back of the sofa. There was a long moment, filled only by the steady deep thrum of blood through his veins.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You're awake,” he heard Will say softly.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wraithsonwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraithsonwings/gifts).



> Based on [a prompt](http://hannispanties.tumblr.com/post/141244645921/so-am-i-only-one-who-prefers-will-dragging-them) by hannispanties - this is essentially the prequel to the fic I thought I was going to write when I read this post.
> 
> The first three chapters were originally posted on my tumblr some time ago - this work is now finished and I'll add a new chapter each Friday.
> 
> Gifted to wraithsonwings for all her help and support - here's one you don't have to beta ;)
> 
> Thanks to lordofthelesbians for beta <333

Hannibal opened his eyes to the sound of an axe falling heavily on wood. Sunlight fell on his face, warm but with the waning strength of autumn. There was woodsmoke, and the crisp scent of fresh apples. The axe fell again, ringing sharp and clear through the peaceful air.

There was nothing in his mind but the present moment, even when he tried to reach for something more. He was not afraid. He went back to sleep.

*

He was more lucid the next time he awoke. His body ached where he lay, not from injury but from lack of use. A memory returned, of pacing in a glass cage. The sunlight was still warm but had shifted in the room. Perhaps an hour had passed. Perhaps a day.

The axe was silent now.

Hannibal stretched, slowly and deliberately, cataloguing the range of motion in his cramped muscles, noting the IV in his arm. His limbs shifted under heavy wool blankets, hands pulling at his clothing to search for the bullet wound. 

There was nothing, not even a bandage. Only a rough, tender area of scar tissue.

A door opened, spilling light and cold, fresh air past him into the room. Will.

*

The footsteps Hannibal heard from behind him were confident, unhurried. Sounds of clothing being removed and tools put neatly away accompanied them. Whistling too, low and musical. 

Will walked into the cabin, behind the sofa bed upon which Hannibal lay, and began filling a tin kettle at the sink. The scents of outdoors followed him - soft clay earth, brackish water, burning leaves. 

Hannibal remained still, waiting.

The whistling stopped suddenly. He felt Will approach, cautious now, to lean over the back of the sofa. There was a long moment, filled only by the steady deep thrum of blood through his veins.

“You're awake,” he heard Will say softly. 

Then, as he moved swiftly around the bed towards Hannibal, “What do you remember? Do you know where you are?”

Without waiting for an answer, Will brought out a small torch to shine in Hannibal's eyes. The light was piercing. Will's hands were sure and practiced, gentle on his face. Hannibal brought his own up to cover them, to pull the torch from his grasp, to touch, to feel.

“I do not know precisely where I am but I know your territory when I see it.” His voice was hoarse but came more easily than he’d thought.

Will exhaled shakily and sat on the bed, a heavy weight at Hannibal's side.

“I see some time has passed.”

Will was lean, hardened. His beard had grown, thick enough so it almost covered the scar on his face.

“I would estimate it has been at least three months since the Dragon, maybe longer.”

“Five. We've been here for three. You had an infection.”

Hannibal nodded once, accepting the information wordlessly. 

Will got up to light the stove for the kettle. “Could you eat or drink anything?”

Looking down at himself, Hannibal observed his weight loss and weakened muscles. “I suppose I must begin to try.”

*

They sat on the porch, the light and warmth from the fading sun welcome. Hannibal let it soak into him, still wrapped in blankets.

“You have taken good care of me, I'm impressed.”

“It wasn't that difficult.”

“Are we not beyond platitudes, Will? You said yourself it has been several months. It cannot have been easy.”

Will didn’t answer, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes focused on the tree-lined horizon.

“What were you going to do should I not wake?”

“I've been waiting,” Will said. “For you to come back to me or for winter. Whichever came first.”

“And then?”

“We can't stay here for long. Eventually they'll find someone who can connect Will Graham to this place.”

Hannibal waited, taking in his surroundings in more detail as he did so. The neatly organised log pile, the small vegetable garden, the dog bowl containing fresh water.

Eventually Will spoke. “Even before your infection you weren't yourself. After the first few days - do you remember those? - I began to think that perhaps there was some damage which couldn't be fixed. When your fever receded and the infection healed, you still wouldn't wake. You've been unconscious these past few weeks.”

“You were checking my pupils. Head trauma?”

Will gave a tight nod. “Most likely. Memory loss. Periods of mental confusion. You diagnosed yourself, actually. You patched me up, you patched _yourself up,_ and then- You rested more and more, not less. I found you on the kitchen floor.”

“You feared the worst. How would you have done it, if winter came?”

Will gave a dry, bitter laugh. “This is how we're going to celebrate? By discussing how I would have put you out of your misery, and me out of mine?” He scratched his beard. “Quickly. I would have done it quickly. I'm too tired for artistry.”

Hannibal considered. “An act of mercy. And of release.”

Will looked at him then, sharply. He'd been avoiding Hannibal's eyes since he'd assured himself Hannibal was awake. There was that stubborn, righteous anger which fuelled his magnificent survival instincts. He was simply breathtaking.

“I don't think mercy is part of our vocabulary,” Will said tightly.

“Then an apology perhaps,” Hannibal countered. “You feel responsible for my life, since you pulled me off that cliff.”

Will was silent for a moment. “You're not the only one who thinks so.”

“Chiyoh. She's left me under your care. You are to shoulder her burden and she is now free.”

Will nodded. “She stayed around long enough to make sure I was worthy of the honour. We won't ever see her again.”

Hannibal smiled to himself and wondered if Chiyoh knew what a great service she'd done him. “I have no doubt that you are. So what happens now, Will?”

“We wait. You get back to full health. And then we leave.”


	2. Chapter 2

Each day Hannibal would wake alone in the one-roomed cabin, Will rising early and breakfasting on the porch. Each day Hannibal would join him there, and there he would remain until the sun dipped below the trees. Resting under blankets on the bench, growing stronger with every passing minute but still too weak to do much more than listen to the leaves fall.

He found his indisposition was not a burden. Hannibal was well-practised in patience and the revival of the body was curiously pleasurable to experience, each milestone a sign of his certain recovery. There was time to luxuriate inregaining his appetite, and in enjoying restorative and restful sleep. The rest would follow in due course.

Also there was Will. Never before had he so much leisure to observe him - it was a delight which occupied his waking hours. The work of maintaining the cabin, preparing food, cooking, cleaning was all done by Will. In addition he fished - hunted even, bringing back an occasional duck, still warm and soft - and collected apples and wild berries to supplement their stored foodstuffs. The cabin itself was so infused with his essence it nearly didn't matter when Will was elsewhere. It was deliberately simple, a contrast of comfortable and almost ascetic masculinity, beautiful in its own way.

One night, finding himself less tired than usual, Hannibal said, “Are you going to tell me the history of this place? It's clear you did not do all this in five months.”

They sat close to the log burner. The days were still warm but the nights were beginning to draw in. 

“This has always been my Plan B, long before you.” In the growing darkness Will was silhouetted by firelight, his expression obscured. “If I couldn't make it work; couldn't find my way to a sustainable niche. I kept the place in order but I've never spent any real time here. Knew I'd need it one day.”

“You would have retreated to the woods, lived alone among nature, at night crouching close to your own warm hearth.” Hannibal could still picture that far too easily - Will alone, hiding, suppressing himself. 

Will smiled wryly. “And people used to think I was a hermit for living in Wolf Trap.”

“I am glad you didn't. That you stayed in the world, within reach,” Hannibal said, softly.

Will looked into the fire, and said nothing.

*

Every morning and evening, Will would take his vitals and note the results for Hannibal's later perusal. _Pulse, blood pressure, temperature._ It had become Will's place to do this. Neither of them mentioned that Hannibal could take these himself now. 

Apparently he had shown Will how to do several simple medical procedures during the first few days of their recovery - Hannibal had no memory of this and regretted it. Those days, such important ones in their shared history, were now lost to him. Instead he had Will describe them, reconstructing and rebuilding the intimacy of those moments in his mind. _Clinging to life and bathed in each other's blood on the floor of the boat. Will assisting in Hannibal's own surgery, hands steady and obedient. Stitching the inside of Will's cheek, once again re-making him._ Hannibal relived these daily,fixing them in his mind as if he really recalled them.

On the subject of the Dragon, Will refused to be drawn. There had been five months for him to think, to make decisions, quite apart from Hannibal's influence. He spoke of the necessity to leave, but never suggested where they might go and what they might do after that. Will had gathered around himself a careful, determined silence, and Hannibal was prepared to wait for what would emerge from it.

*

After two weeks of rest, Hannibal had improved enough to sit on the porch, plucking the two ducks Will had shot that morning. It was good to contemplate cooking again, to take an animal and transform it into meat. The sun was still high enough in the sky to create real warmth. Will sat next to him in shirtsleeves, meticulously checking and cleaning his fishing gear. 

“You are happy here,” Hannibal observed. Will sat in the sunlight on the porch step, just below Hannibal, posture open and relaxed.

Will looked up from a fishing reel. “I know I shouldn't be. But I am.”

“I am tempted to ask why you did not come here before.”

“I would have felt like I’d failed. And… Perhaps I didn’t want to be here alone. Not really.”

Hannibal nodded. “Solitary nights can be surprisingly dark and cold.”

“I did think about bringing Walter here... and Abigail. I never did.”

“How does it feel being here with me?”

“I'd be lying if I said I'd never pictured you in this place.”

“And is it what you expected? “

A flash of sunlight, caught by the reel, pierced the space between them. Will was squinting down at his work, unreadable. “Did you expect this, Hannibal? I don't think either of us did.”

*

That night Hannibal lay on the sofa bed, listening. Though Will was across the room, each peaceful breath, every soft rustle as he shifted under his bedclothes, sounded out clear in the heavy stillness. Despite Will's reticence they had an increasing intimacy, not solely due to living in such close proximity. Something had grown in Will's mind while Hannibal had been absent and which he could not claim credit for. It was hidden from him, though, wary and indistinct. He could not tell what form it took or what it intended, as if a wild animal shared their little cabin.

Often, Hannibal thought of the time that Will must have spent taking care of him, shaving and washing him. He wondered if it was possible that his body remembered Will's touch, even if his mind couldn’t, and felt its absence. Being kept clean shaven had been unnecessary to his recovery and when Hannibal had asked why he'd bothered, Will’s answer had been short. _“I had to. You didn’t seem like you otherwise.”_

He thought about how dark and cold the night seemed as he listened to Will sleep on the other side of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Soon Hannibal was well enough to take over the cooking duties. Their food was simple by necessity. The generator was only used to power a small refrigerator and a large chest freezer, and the cooking done on the wood-fired stove where possible to save on gas. Most of the food was dry-stored or canned, with ample quantities of flour, sugar, and grains to see them through the winter. Will had clearly not neglected his ‘Plan B’ during the period of his marriage. The vegetable garden was now producing a small crop and Hannibal turned his thoughts to bottling tomato sauce and preparing fresh vegetables for freezing.

This meant that Will had more time to prepare for the cold season. The cabin was in good repair but, with large amounts of snow expected in a few weeks, prevention was better than cure. He checked the roof thoroughly and tested the generator. Wood was collected and stored. And he went hunting, bringing back an assortment of game and once, after disappearing for almost the whole day, a deer. Hannibal butchered it all expertly and lamented the lack of wine. 

Even with these practical limitations, it was Hannibal's private joy to take the offerings Will brought and elevate them into something rich and meaningful. To counter and reflect Will’s practicality with his own kind of artistry. The less appetising cuts of venison were made into sausage, which could then be used in a duck confit. Duck carcasses and bones were hoarded for stock, handy for enriching simple vegetable stews in the coming harsh winter.

The combined talents of them both resulted in something beyond mere survival - the simple primal pleasure of hunger satisfied and bodies nourished becoming a beautiful experience to be savoured. Hannibal acknowledged there was a part of him that wished to remain there, forever alone with Will. He wondered how happy he would be, then; if it could ever be possible.

Hannibal continued to watch Will closely. He was so obviously content - surrounded by wildness, confident in his resourceful nature and survival skills. There was an ease between them now yet still they edged carefully, and by mutual consent, around the ragged, gaping holes in their shared discourse. Daily, Hannibal was tempted to push Will on such topics as the night on the cliff, Molly, Will's present and future intentions. Instead he waited, experience having taught him that it was better to allow Will to reveal himself in his own time rather than corner him into it.

They had all winter.

*

One day, while Hannibal sat outside peeling and dicing a pile of squash, Will strode out of the woods trailed by a dog.

“Old habits die hard?” asked Hannibal, as the dog made straight for bowl on the porch which was always kept filled with fresh water. It took a few laps then sniffed around, hopefully.

“Just strays keeping other strays company. She appears every so often, then goes away again.” Will said, as he unpacked his bag. “She doesn't come in the cabin. Couldn't risk another infection.”

Hannibal wordlessly went inside and returned with a plate of pigeon trimmings he’d been saving for stock. He placed it on the floor next to the bowl, as Will watched. The dog attacked it hungrily, tail wagging.

“You’re feeding the dog?”

“It would appear so,” Hannibal replied, as he took up his task again. “Us strays should probably stick together.”

Will hovered in his eyeline, uncertain, before wordlessly accepting the gesture. He sat down to pet her. “You weren't exactly much company - it was nice having her around.”

“No, I can’t have been. And perhaps you felt you had too much time alone with your thoughts.”

“Maybe that’s what I needed. Time to think. Alone,” said Will, feeling along her ribs. “She’s not in bad shape, considering.”

Hannibal spoke aloud Will’s next thought. “But winter is coming.”

Will was silent, and Hannibal went on the supply the logical conclusion. “A guard dog could be useful.”

“You’re not serious?” Will said, suspiciously.

“I have no antipathy to animals, Will, though I do not love them as you do. And in our current circumstances it would make sense to have an ally who could see off any trespassers.”

“You know she’s riddled with fleas, don’t you?”

“I have lived with worse. Though I believe distilled white vinegar can be used as a natural repellant.”

The dog woofed quietly, and wriggled onto her back for Will to scratch her belly.

“I don’t think she has any complaints about the arrangement.” Hannibal observed. When Will’s assent did not come, he added, “I understand that you find it hard to believe that I would do something just because it made you happy.”

Through the silence which followed Hannibal continued to steadily peel and chop.

Eventually, Will got up from the floor and opened up the rucksack he’d taken out with him. He dropped a plastic bag in front of Hannibal.

“I found a few good apples and more blackberries on my walk today, but also these. I thought you’d like them,” Will said, quietly. And then, to the dog as they both walked away, “Let’s go find some vinegar, shall we? And then perhaps something else to eat.”

Hannibal opened the bag and smiled softly. It was full of chanterelle mushrooms, glowing like amber in the afternoon light.

*

That night Hannibal served the chanterelles, sauteed with garlic and herbs, and with fresh bread to soak up the oil. It was the right thing to do with such a lovely ingredient but he knew also it was a dish tailored entirely to Will’s simpler tastes. The dog, still unnamed, had been washed, fed and housed in one of the sheds outside in preparation for her guard duties.

“Thank you,” Will said. “This is delicious. And for- you know.”

Hannibal smiled. “You are welcome.”

“I know I’m… quiet, right now. I got used to it, being here alone. It’s still strange having you talk back at me. But a relief too.”

“The time you had alone, to think. You implied it had been good for you.”

“No one in my head but myself. Do you know how rare that has been for me?”

“And what did you find there? Wonderful things, I should imagine.”

Amusement broke across Will’s face, his smile spreading unhindered. “Still fetishising my brain after all this time.” He reached for another beer. “I thought about a lot of things. Forgiveness and responsibility. Life and death. You. Me.”

“Still shouldering the burden Chiyoh left you with.”

“Chiyoh didn't give this to me. Even you didn't.”

“What will you do with it now it's yours?”

Hannibal knew the truth of the words he spoke should devastate him, but it was inescapable. He couldn't go back from this, from Will. Their destinies were entwined, like the creepers and ivies which grew outside. All he could do was wait for Will to choose what was to happen next. The firelight shimmered gold in Will's hair, giving him a halo of fire to wear. He was achingly beautiful, still uncertain of his power even now, still poised on the brink. Still in free fall.

Will took a long draft from his beer bottle, and watched the flames dance in the grate. When he answered it was careful and deliberate, still cautious. Yet it gave Hannibal hope.

“Something more than simply survive or endure. I'm going to live with it, if it'll let me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Over the last three weeks the temperature had dropped steadily and Hannibal's breath clouded, visible in the crisp stillness of the morning. He had recently found himself fit enough to wander freely over the wooded land surrounding the cabin and did so often. His range increased daily and in a few weeks he planned to begin more serious exercise, but for now this was welcome. To roam at will through trees and ferns, to feel body and mind refreshed by the dimming golden light glancing through the gently waving branches. Frequently, in the quiet depths of the forest, he happened upon evidence of Will's hand. Felled trees, a long double row of drying logs, fencing to dissuade deer - all these spoke of his stewardship.

He felt made anew. To return like this to the woods, not so dissimilar from the forests of his childhood, was apposite. They were the bedrock of European mythology - places rife with magical possibility, populated by pagan gods and folkloric beings who offered ambiguous bargains. It was fitting they should both wait out the ripples of their shared transformation here. A perfect landscape for shedding old selves and re-building once more.

Already, Hannibal could feel his carefully curated outer layers flaking and peeling, exposing tender new skin underneath. He was glad of the temporary shelter of the trees - the deepening reds and fiery bronzes of the canopy would soon be bare branches. In tandem with the changes he felt wrought upon his psyche, his appearance was altered too. He remained thinner and lighter, his strength still not what it should be. His hair had almost grown to its former length, though left uncut for so long that it was in danger of becoming shapeless and unruly. Soon he would be able to tie it back, and perhaps that would be for the best.

Living like this with Will was stripping him further of his humanity, returning him to the wild. Hannibal was strongly reminded of another temporary regression, long ago when he’d undergone another vital transformation. For a few moments he was tempted to walk barefoot as he'd done as a child, feeling the damp leaf mulch and sharp twigs on his soles. To remember the pain of that time, and how change was necessary and desirable. How one grew into new shapes because of it.

*

It was too cold now for lunch outside so they ate next to the log burner - a simple and hearty stew with the bread Hannibal had baked at first light. Mostly cured of fleas, the newly-named Bramble was comfortably guarding the fire rather than the perimeter she was supposed to be responsible for. Hannibal nevertheless knew she would be an excellent guard dog. Will had worked his magic and she had grown quickly and fiercely loyal of her new home.

“When I walk through the trees outside I feel you everywhere. You, and my past also. Both different sides of the same coin.”

Will smiled, knowingly. “It is my land, and you are a guest here. It is right you should feel me everywhere.”

“Was it like that for you, when you were a guest on my ancestral land?”

“I didn’t see my past there. I only saw yours, and my present.”

It was Hannibal’s turn to smile. “Yes, the hall of my beginnings. You knew how to get to the heart of me. Do you remain victorious?”

“Neither one of us can be the victor, you know that already.”

“There are other ways to conquer. I am changed - do you not delight in that?”

Will raised an eyebrow. “You’re not that changed, Hannibal.”

“When I was very young, I would play a game in the forest. I would escape my tutor and spend all day there, while they sought me in vain. They believed they hunted me while in fact I would watch them, hidden in the trees. In time I came to realise that is a curious quality of forests - they are dangerous and wild yet they offer shelter and hiding places to those who know how to seek it.”

“A place of reversals. Prey becomes predator. Wilderness becomes home.”

“Yes, and of regressions and advancements also. We go back and we go forward.”

“So when we leave here, what happens then? Do you revert or continue along a new course?”

“To revert is to go back, permanently. It is an impossible task. Besides, we cannot leave the forest until our business with it is complete - a common theme in woodland mythology.”

Will tore his bread and used it to scoop up the last of the stew from his bowl. As he ate, he grew thoughtful and quiet. When he was finished he said, “If you are not too tired, I’d like to show you something. For when the forest is done with us.”

*

It was further than Hannibal had managed so far, down a forked path he hadn’t yet explored. He needed to rest along the way, sitting on a fallen log while his tired muscles protested and the dizziness blurring the edges of his vision faded. Will watched him with faint concern and handed him a small packet of cookies.

“Don’t complain, just eat them,” he said. “You need to get back too, and the sugar will help. I’m not going to carry you again.”

Despite himself, Hannibal laughed, louder and longer than he could remember doing for some time. Will joined him, the sharp white teeth of his crooked grin piercing Hannibal with warmth. The cookies were excruciatingly saccharine and left an oily residue on his palate, but he ate them obediently. Bramble sat hopefully at his feet, tail thumping on the damp ground.

Hannibal’s pace remained slow and it took another fifteen minutes to reach the end of the path. Bramble became more excited the further they went, crashing through the undergrowth in wide circles around them, occasionally pausing ahead to bark back at them. Obviously this wasn’t the first time she’d been this way, and Hannibal wondered what secret Will had kept hidden in the trees. As they stepped out suddenly from the dense cover of leaves, all became clear.

Immediately in front of them lay an open expanse of water, surrounded by wooded hills and mountains, its surface ruffled by breeze and smelling faintly of salt. There was a little jetty, rickety but recently repaired, and next to it was moored a small sailboat.

“It’s not much,” Will said, “but it’s enough to get us out of here and away. There’s a small inlet at the other side which is just navigable when the tide is in, and from there it’s a couple of miles to the sea.”

“We did not come here this way?”

“No, Chiyoh brought us and then left. The boat is mine, it was already here.”

They sat on the jetty together, dangling their legs over the bright surface of the water. Bramble was exploring the shore further around the lake but, Hannibal noticed, never too far from Will. 

“I know you'll have somewhere, a safe place to go. Maybe more than one. When the time comes, tell me where we're going and I'll get us there.”

Hannibal studied him closely. In the bright cold light every line and scar was visible, every sign of strain and stress and tiredness. He did not doubt for a second that Will was capable of such a thing.

“Cuba,” Hannibal said. “That’s where we shall go. All three of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're re-reading this fic, no you're not going mad. Originally I had them heading for Argentina but then [this happened](http://existingcharactersdiehorribly.tumblr.com/post/153400050846/excuse-me-while-i-focus-on-the-present-tense-of) and now I'm writing a sequel and tbh Cuba is a much better fit all round (good call Bryan, that's why you're the guy in charge).
> 
> So Cuba it is :)


	5. Chapter 5

That night, a sound woke Hannibal from a dreamless sleep. Eyes open, he remained perfectly still, waiting. A silhouette by the window revealed it to be Will, moonlight catching on his dishevelled hair.

“Is anything the matter?” Hannibal sat up, gathering his blankets around him. It was cold, the fire in the log burner had long guttered out.

“No.” Will’s voice was rough and soft from sleep. “Just a bad dream.”

The dark shape shifted as Will passed a hand over his eyes, then scrubbed the back of his neck. Its familiarity stirred faint regret in Hannibal, a relic of the time Will had trusted him, unquestioningly and completely. When he came willingly to Hannibal for help.

He watched Will reach for a glass to be filled from the faucet. Watched too as his throat worked, gulping most of it in one. He lingered there, in the kitchen, next to the sink. Avoiding Hannibal, and keeping his distance.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Will sighed. He leaned on the counter, head bowed. “You’re no longer my therapist, Hannibal.”

“If you are having bad dreams, they are likely connected to me. To our experiences. Recent or otherwise.”

A shake of Will’s head. A refusal, not a denial. 

“Have you been having them long?”

Stretching his shoulders, Will circled the room back to his bed, retreating. Hannibal took his blankets and followed, to sit on the end of his bed. Will wrapped himself in a quilt and leaned back against the pillows.

Reluctantly, he said, “Recent experiences. And strangely enough, much more often now you’re awake.”

“You’ve had less to do, more time to reflect. And trauma can have delayed effects.”

The moonlight did not penetrate far into the cabin from the uncurtained window but it reflected in Will’s eyes, open and directed at Hannibal. 

Hannibal continued, “Unless of course, you find my company traumatic? Perhaps you preferred me unconscious and unresponsive.”

A laugh escaped Will, a genuine one. “Maybe that would the sane thing to think.” He plucked at the sheets, growing serious again. “I was relieved when you woke. To find you… whole.”

There was a moment where they both simply looked at each other, into each other. The tug in Hannibal’s heart which drew him constantly toward Will grew stronger. For a second or two, he allowed it, and let himself want. 

In the dark next to him, Will spoke suddenly, quietly. “How much of that night do you remember?”

There was no need to ask which night he meant, with Will’s voice soft and strained with suppressed emotion.

Hannibal sighed, reliving it with closed eyes. After then his memories were shattered, lost. But the night on the cliff was enthroned in his palace, raised on a dais of finest marble. “All of it, right up until you pulled me off the cliff with you. How could I ever not remember?”

Will turned his face away, and whispered, “Can you forgive me?”

Surprised, Hannibal studied his averted gaze and hunched shoulders. That Will felt responsible for him he knew, but he had supposed Will had understood. What those brief and devastating minutes on the cliff edge had meant to him. How Hannibal had allowed Will to pull them both towards oblivion, an ending, together.

“There's nothing to forgive. In that moment you gave me everything I have ever wanted. I shall revere the memory forever.”

Will stiffened, his shoulders freezing tense and hard as the ground outside. In a hoarse whisper, he said, “That's what you said before.”

“Before? ...when I was ill?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal felt a tightening around his heart, something which could have been close to fear. He had no idea what else he could have said, delirious with fever, his brain swollen and bleeding. What pure truth he could have spilled. “Did I say anything else?”

“You said I'd found my way into the very core of you and you treasured each deep, boring hole I had made in you.”

Tears formed unbidden in Hannibal's eyes. He let his silence speak for him.

“You-” Will's voice broke a little. “You came to me, in the night. Wanted to sleep next to me. The morning after was when I found you on the floor. I- I thought I'd _broken_ you, finally. And it wasn't what I thought it would be.”

Will got up and began to pace, dragging his blankets with him. “I just wanted an end, to everything. But instead what I got was- more punishment. It was the worst kind of destruction of something so-” he gestured at Hannibal and sighed heavily, rubbed his hand over his face. “... I still don't know how that sentence ends.”

Hannibal was held fast by Will's words, cracked open by his unburdening. The moment spun out around him as he waited for Will to continue, like falling. When he did not, Hannibal came slowly back to himself, a piece at a time, like the flow of blood returning after a tourniquet.

Hannibal spoke, his voice rough, thickened with disbelief, with longing _._ He realised he was almost pleading. “You know what I am. More so than anyone else.”

From the other side of the room, Will laughed, a harsh noise in the darkness. “Don’t I know it. And haven’t I suffered for it?”

This was it, when Will would choose, make his final judgement. Hannibal had known this moment had been coming ever since he’d woken bathed in warm sunlight and surrounded by birdsong.

“You know, it’s not a very pleasant metaphor, to compare your love for me to a maggot in your heart. Though I can relate. God knows I've tried to cut you out of me. I nearly succeeded too, but sometimes, I could _feel_ _you still_ , burrowed inside.”

Feeling defeat rising, consuming him, Hannibal said softly, “There is an implied metamorphosis, which is not misplaced.”

“And what are you transforming into, Hannibal? What have you become?”

Hannibal found he could no longer look at where Will was standing, and could barely trust his own voice. “I do not know, the process is unfinished. Perhaps only a solitary half of a broken whole, where I had hoped to find belonging.”

The ringing silence which followed was disturbed only when Will slammed the door behind him, leaving Hannibal in the cabin alone.


	6. Chapter 6

When cool grey light gently brushed his eyelids, Hannibal abandoned further attempts to sleep. Will had not returned in the night.

He had lain down in Will’s bed to wait, no longer able to put aside his own heart or Will’s refusal of it. Unashamed, he had wrapped himself in Will’s scent, wishing to drown in the parts of Will still accessible to him. 

Whatever Will could or could not accept from Hannibal, they both knew they could not separate. Destroying the other had ceased to be an option some time ago. They must find a way to live together, or a way to die together. These were the choices left to them now.

Hannibal rose to dress. He knew where to find Will and that they must settle this soon. 

Outside, he looked for Bramble. She was not in her shed, obviously gone with Will. For a moment, Hannibal entertained the notion that Will had really left, sailed away in his boat. Leaving Hannibal surrounded by traces of him, his mark everywhere. If that were so would Hannibal follow, or remain here alone among memories? No one else had existed here, only the two of them, together. He pushed on through the woods, taking the path to the lake.

It was early still, and the light dim. He grew tired quickly, breaths coming short and tight in his chest. The dizziness returned and he ate an apple, forced himself to slow. There were roots underfoot and it would be easy to trip, made clumsy by his continued weakness.

His relief at finding the boat still moored at the jetty, and Will himself sitting on the tiny deck, was enough to convince him that he would give Will whatever he wanted. He stood to consider this, the enormity of it. Will was looking out to sea, a steaming mug between his hands, and it was Bramble who gave his presence away. She barked, once, causing Will to turn as she trotted around the deck to greet Hannibal.

Hannibal remained on the shore, eyes fixed on Will as he looked back inland. He remained still and silent even as Will stepped onto the jetty; the taut, tense lines of his face becoming visible as he came closer. He walked with determination but his gaze would not quite meet Hannibal’s. When he came to a stop in front of him, Hannibal understood, with a burst of terrible joy, how Will shared his own longing despair.

Will searched his face at length until he grasped Hannibal by his elbows, backing him firmly up against a tree. It was only a few paces yet it felt much further with closed eyes, letting himself be pulled into Will’s slipstream once more. 

The bark was rough and scratched even through his thick coat. Will’s breath misted between them as he pressed their foreheads together. Will clutched at him, at his clothing, as he had that night on the cliff. He seemed desperate to speak but unable to begin, standing crowded close like it was painful to stay away. Hannibal reached for him too, pulling him nearer, tighter, not quite an embrace. Waiting still.

Will’s mouth worked and then, stumbling, he began. “That night, I wanted it so much, all of it. I couldn’t stand how much. I thought it would be better that way. For both of us.”

His head sank onto Hannibal’s shoulder, knuckles white where he gripped Hannibal’s sweater. “I meant for us to die. And when we didn’t… it was so easy to just continue.”

Hannibal sagged back against the tree and let his lips to brush Will’s hair, just once.

“There should have been guilt, but it was like… a rebirth. We came out of the sea washed clean. I kept waiting for it to happen - the remorse, or the retribution. I knew we were on borrowed time. It came, in the end.”

Will took a deep and ragged breath, and clutched tighter. “You won’t remember the days we had before. I know you don’t remember. We were inseparable. We didn’t discuss it, we were too injured. You told me you loved me, twice. Once on pain medication, and once the night before- Before I realised how sick you were.”

Hannibal held himself very still, afraid to startle Will into stopping. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, watching his words condense in the cold air above Will’s head, his confession.

“It couldn’t have lasted. Sooner or later I would have woken up to what we’ve done. But - that out of everything, all the reasons I have for guilt - that what I did to you was the hardest. It doesn’t make sense, none of it does. Yet here we are.”

Will loosened his fingers from the fabric, and clawed his hands onto Hannibal’s shoulders instead. They were chest-to-chest, Will leaning heavily on him, crushing him against the tree.

“I didn’t choose you, you were chosen for me, and I can’t fight it anymore. I don’t even want to.”

Hannibal’s breath hitched in his chest and he wrapped his arms tightly around Will. His face was wet, raised to the branches above him. He let out a shuddering sigh.

“If you want a rebirth, Will, we can have one. Let us stay here, together, just like this. Whatever you want.”

Will laughed, short and bitter. “I know you mean that now, but you won’t. Soon you won’t.” He pulled his head back to look at Hannibal. “And we can’t stay here, it’s too risky. We should have left long ago.”

Hannibal cupped his cheek, caressing, still torn open with awful yearning. 

Will stood so close still, eyes very blue in the clear light. “It's cold, we should go back.”

“I know.” Hannibal didn’t move.

Covering Hannibal’s hand on his cheek with his own, Will said, “You said you were half of one whole.”

“A whole which I didn't know could ever exist.”

Will pushed closer, huffed a laugh into his neck, body warm despite the freezing air. “Oh, it exists, whether we like it or not.”

Eventually Will disentangled himself gently from Hannibal's arms, cradling Hannibal’s face in both hands. Will kissed him tentatively, softly sliding his mouth open over Hannibal's. Hannibal was dimly aware of his hands trembling as he reached them up to tangle in Will's hair. It was brief, hesitant, warm. Barely more than a promise, but it was enough.

Together they went back to the warm hearth of the cabin and slept, dreamlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read and supported this fic <3
> 
> A sequel will follow in due course! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Hannibal with me [on tumblr](http://weconqueratdawn.tumblr.com/)


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